


Firstborn

by stellarshocks (cherrySprinkles)



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Family, messy timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 20:05:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7004518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrySprinkles/pseuds/stellarshocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Firstborn. Heavy is the head that wears the crown."<br/>— Isabelle Lightwood, Shadowhunters 01x02</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firstborn

**Author's Note:**

> Kamui/Corrin is refered to as “Tristan”, since that’s the name my male Avatar has. Also the timeline might be wonky since the proper ages aren’t given and seems to be a mess even in the games.  
> Not beta read, so there's a high probability of mistakes here and there.
> 
> Crossposted from [here](http://drxgon-child.tumblr.com).
> 
> Please feel free to come cry about FE: Fates with me on tumblr; my url is suzumicchi!

Xander of Nohr was four when little Camilla is born to Lady Astrid. The baby girl had wispy lilac hair, much like her mother, marking her undoubtedly as the daughter of a concubine. There were times when Xander wished she could’ve simply inherited his father’s wheat blond instead. It would’ve been so much easier for her if she could’ve passed for Queen Katerina’s own flesh and blood.

He was but a child of four, but even then the Crown Prince knew that it was not uncommon for a daughter of a royal concubine to be found dead soon after being born. It had become a cruel game amongst the women jockeying for his father’s attention and love, especially now that Xander’s mother had fallen ill. All of Nohr knew of Queen Katerina, as sickly as she was kind, and once she was dead it’d be easy to dispose of her son as well.

Xander had most of his looks from his father, but his fragile disposition was all hers. He was weak and he knew. Even stone-faced Gunter, having been training the oldest royal spawn to prowess on the battlefield, occasionally got that disappointed glint in his eyes, one that he couldn’t mask, when he saw the little prince being unable to lift a sword.

“Grow and become strong and beautiful,” he whispered to the little girl in the cradle, her small hand wrapped around his index finger. “Become a woman worth being called a queen, little Camilla. Don’t let them hurt you.”

  
Xander was eight when his mother died. He didn’t shed a tear during the funeral, holding his little sister’s hand firmly as they lowered the lavishly decorated casket into the ground.

But as the doors to his room fell shut in his wake it felt like the weight of the world came crashing down onto his shoulders.

In the same year, King Garon’s bastard daughter Camilla was proclaimed second in line for the throne. Xander watched wistfully as Lady Astrid’s pretty face distorted in a triumphant sneer when the announcement was made. Her sweet, three-year-old child beamed, for how would she know any better? How could she know that all that would wait for her was hurt and betrayal?  
He helped Camilla pick a dress and told her fairy tales about a princess’ life. Back then, it felt like the merciful thing to do.

 

 

In the autumn of Xander’s ninth year, Leo was born to Lady Jule. The concubine, former lady in waiting to the now late queen, passed away in the same night. Ever since then, Leo seemed to harbour an innate disdain for the world. He’d refuse to open his eyes for a very long time and it took six attempts to find a wet nurse that was able to feed the little boy and Xander overheard his father’s counselor, Iago, advise Garon to simply kill the child. “Another hungry mouth to feed you don’t need, your Majesty,” the General’s slick voice echoed through the throne room and Xander pressed himself closer to the pillar he’d taken cover behind.

To his relief, Leo’s aversion to human beings seemed to make an exception for his siblings. Camilla took great pleasure in learning how to care for her younger sibling and years later, Xander wished someone’d told her that five was far too early to become a mother.

 

 

The following year, King Garon remarried. The new Queen, Lady Arete, was a cool woman and brought a daughter with her, barely a year older than Leo. The servants would stay away from the child, wary of her sky blue hair and beryl eyes and they’d pull Xander and Camilla with them.

“You should stay away, m'lord,” the chamber maid whispered to him while petting his golden curls. “Ya never know what sorcery comes with these foreigners.”

So they stayed away and watched as Princess Azura hummed songs to herself and her invisible friends.

 

 

Xander was fourteen when he was taken along to Cheve to attend the peace treaty between his father and Lord Sumeragi. It was the first time he saw a man die before his very own eyes and it was a thing he never forgot. He felt his stomach churn with a violent force and while his father stepped around the corpse, Xander fell onto his knees and retched.

A soldier laughed, another patted his back in sympathy and a Wyvern rider brought him a cup of chamomile tea. When he finally had gotten his sorry state under control and his composure puzzled together into a semblance of princely dignity, his father had another child in his arms. A boy, Xander realised, with long, ashen hair that had fallen out of the simple Hoshido hairdo, sleeping tightly as Garon handed him to Iago.

“My son,” he said in a solemn voice. “We will bring you and your siblings a new brother home.”

 

They cut the boy’s hair as soon as they got back to the palace and the next time Xander saw him, he wore breechers and a black tunic instead of the princely attire of Hoshido. “My name is Tristan. I’m very pleased to meet you,” the child greeted and Camilla instantly took a step forward and pulled her new sibling into a tight hug.

“Poor sweetheart! Father told us they found you all alone. But worry not, you’ll never be alone again.” Her voice rang clear, even as she buried her nose in the choppy grey locks.

“We are your family now. I promise.”

 

 

Azura was lost barely a year later. Queen Arete had passed with the last winter and so the four royal siblings mourned in silence and solitude. Leo lit the candles with his gift, talented beyond his age of only six years and Tristan sang a slow lament with words Xander had never heard before — words he would not hear again for a very long time.

 

 

Elise was born when all hope in another child had been lost. King Garon’s skin had grown grey and fallow with the years, his eyes sunken and glittering with a greed Xander at age fifteen couldn’t really understand yet. He knew, however, that it frightened him and he prayed to the gods, old and new, to the Dragon of Dusk as much as the Dragon of Dawn that this new child would bring happiness back into his father’s heart.

Elise was a strange one, she came into the world with a laugh on her lips and purple eyes wide open from her third breath.

“She will be a child father can be proud of,” Camilla mused as she gently petted her younger sister’s still bald head. “Whatever you say,” Leo grumbled, not looking up from the book in his lap. He was leaning against Tristan, the two boys guarding the princess’ cradle from the windowsill, relishing in the warmth of the summer sun.

Tristan smiled at Elise, replying to her gurgling with a soft whistle.

 

Xander squared his shoulders.

He would protect them all. And one day, his father would not be able to tell which one of his children he was the proudest of; that, he vowed to himself.


End file.
